


Aurors Abated

by terianoen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Case Fic, Dinner Date, Harry pov, Hermione is the best, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Harry, Pining Draco Malfoy, enemies to lovers (sort of), partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 06:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20041246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terianoen/pseuds/terianoen
Summary: Harry Potter hadn’t seen Draco Malfoy since school, hadn’t talked to him, hadn’t interacted. So, when they were assigned on the same Auror case, it wasn’t as if he was happy about the fact, especially when Malfoy showed up tall and blonde and reasonable. He wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to focus on his job at that point.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story if pretty focused on Harry’s physical attraction to Draco. As such there’s going to be a lot of descriptions of him, not all of which are entirely appropriate—cough, cough. They do talk, and like each other mentally, however. 
> 
> This story is going to be three chapters long at about 13,000 words. 
> 
> As far as I know, there’s no such things as A Dark Arts Retrieval Department in JK Rowlings Potter verse, especially not the one I describe.

"But I don't _want _to work with him," Harry answered, and he knew he sounded dangerously close to a whine. He _knew _but what was he supposed to do? It wasn't like he could actually work with Malfoy. The last time he'd really talked to the git had been the battle of Hogwarts, when he'd tried to return said gits wand and said git had cursed him, snatched his wand back, and turned his back on Harry as if Harry hadn't tried to do something nice for said git.

Said git had gone into Dark Art Retrieval while Harry had gone into Auror work. Since they'd mostly trained in the same building, they'd of course _seen_ one and other, but they had tried their best to avoid each other, because the one time they _had _acknowledge each other had been epic. And no, not in a good way. There were still stories about _how _two trainees had managed to break the dueling mat without casting a spell.

They would end up killing each other.

And that was the only reason Harry was resorting to whining to his boss about how he'd gotten assigned to work a case with Malfoy.

"Well, I don't really care what you want," Shacklebolt answered, staring Harry down from across his desk. He had on his no-nonsense face, which was getting progressively more no-nonsense since Harry had come in. But seriously. This was _Malfoy_ they were talking about.

"But-."

"He's the best we have at identifying Dark Arts. You'll need that," Shacklebolt interrupted. "So, suck it up and work with him."

"But-."

"Now get out of my office, Potter," he said, turning back to his paperwork, and Harry really didn't have much of a choice except to do what he was told—unless he wanted to be pulled off the case, which he really didn't want. He'd been working the Bradbury case since the beginning; he wasn't about to give it up because of _Malfoy._

Jasmine Bradbury had been murdered in her own home, no evidence of anything left behind. Of course, the first thing suspected had been foul play, but there was no way to prove anything. It had taken Harry a week of digging and looking into people and searching her house before he discovered the traces of dark magic that pointed to the involvement of a certain Dark Arts artifact that had been the cause of Mrs. Bradbury's death. Unfortunately, for all of them he still hadn't be able to identify the culprit. And once Dark Arts was involved the Dark Arts Retrieval Department got involved.

He just didn't understand why _Malfoy _had to be the Dark Arts retrieval agent he worked with. There _had _to be someone else. Someone Harry wouldn't kill. _Anyone._

He huffed as he kicked the door closed behind him. He figured he probably didn't have to actually _talk _to Malfoy until tomorrow. After all, Malfoy would still need to go over the case, make sure he knew the facts, get the details. He'd only gotten the file last night, while Harry had had it for over a week.

"Done complaining, Potter?" he jumped, turning to face the source of the voice. Malfoy was leaning against the wall next to Shacklebolt's office, one long leg draped almost casually over the other. His head was tilted as he looked at Harry, long blonde hair pulled in a low ponytail at the base of his neck and _just _falling over his left shoulder in a way that shouldn't have been attractive.

"I…" Harry trailed off as he stared at Malfoy. His features were still sharp, but somehow less in the pointy, childish way and more in a defined way with high cheekbones, a distinct chin, and clear grey eyes that were looking at Harry as if he'd lost his mind. Harry cleared his throat, looking away with what he knew was a blush on his face. He hadn't seen Malfoy in so long, hadn't known he'd gotten-

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and Malfoy frowned, one blonde eyebrow raised with an attractive quirk. That wasn't actually attractive, he decided. 

"I came to speak to you," Malfoy answered. "Obviously."

"Why?"

"Because I'm working with you on a case?" Malfoy said, standing suddenly from the wall, his frown deepening as he looked at Harry. "You were _told _you were getting help from Dark Arts Retrieval, weren't you?"

"I… of course," Harry snapped. "But why are you here, _now_. Don't you have to look over the case?"

"I've already looked over it," Malfoy answered, looking agitated now. As if, somehow, _Harry _was the one who had done something wrong. "Why, Potter, hoping you could find some way to get rid of me?"

"Like you didn't complain when you heard who you were working with," Harry rolled his eyes.

"I didn't, actually," Malfoy answered, and Harry couldn't stop himself from staring.

"I… why not?" Harry asked, and now Malfoy was staring at him as if he were something particularly distasteful, his grey eyes sharp and cutting and cold, and Harry was sure that whatever the answer was, he wasn't about to get it right now.

"Because, unlike you, I'm a professional," he said, turning on his heel. And he was walking away, heading _into _the Auror offices, right toward Harry's desk, which how he even _knew _where Harry's desk was….

"What are you-?" Harry asked, scrambling after him in a way he was sure was entirely undignified. But Malfoy was walking toward his desk without asking him and _talk _about _unprofessional._

"We have a case to work, Potter," Malfoy interrupted, his voice cutting smoothly through Harry's in a way that Harry decided right then he would have to find a way to counter if he didn't want to end up strangling Malfoy.

* * *

"Stop doing that," Harry snapped, throwing his paperwork across the desk in favor of glaring at Malfoy. Malfoy, who was sitting on the edge of _Harry's—_Harry's, not Malfoy's, Malfoy, who _had _an office, with a desk and everything, up in Dark Arts Retrieval—desk. _Again._ His legs were crossed under him, his shoes abandoned on the floor. He wasn't even wearing robes today, because apparently the Dark Arts Retrieval Department had a much less strict dress policy than the Auror Department. Which didn't make sense, but Harry was done arguing with Malfoy about it.

He could still remember when Malfoy had walked into his office three days ago, the day after he'd been assigned to work the case with him. Malfoy had showed up in a white button up shirt and loose black pants that were a little too tight around his arse for Harry to be able to keep his eyes at the proper height. Before that, he hadn't even known Malfoy _owned _muggle clothes, much less that he willingly wore them.

He wondered vaguely if Malfoy was being blackmailed or something. Maybe he should ask. 

"What are you _wearing?"_ he'd asked when Malfoy had barged into his office, and Malfoy had stared at him with those sharp grey eyes until Harry was able to close his mouth. Though he was sure he'd never stopped looking like an idiot.

"We require a free-thinking environment down in Dark Arts Retrieval," Malfoy had said, and he'd looked entirely too pleased with himself. "They don't much care what we dress like as long as we get things done." Harry hadn't said anything to that, hadn't known what to say, had been pretty sure that Malfoy was screwing with him.

"We've talked about this, Potter," Malfoy answered, wrenching Harry back into the moment. Malfoy, of course, hadn't bother to move his arse off Harry's desk. He hadn't even bothered to open his eyes.

He was still sitting with his long legs crossed under him in black slacks, eyes closed, looking for all the world as if he was completely relaxed in his black button down muggle shirt with the sleeves pushed up and arms resting in his lap. The only part of him not relaxed was his right hand, which was holding his wand and ever so often flicking as Malfoy muttered.

"No," Harry grumbled. "You've told me to shut up every time I've told you to not to sit on my desk while you go throwing my paperwork on the floor."

"Exactly," Malfoy answered, the smirk playing across his lips for half a second before it was gone.

"What are you even doing?" Harry sighed, giving with Malfoy for now. He had yet to win a single argument between them, mostly because Malfoy either refused to acknowledge Harry's points or Harry's existent entirely.

Harry had never wanted to strangle someone so badly, which was probably the main reason why they'd gotten nothing done. Though Malfoy insisted it was really because they had nothing to work with. Harry supposed that was probably a factor too. 

"I'm _trying _to track Dark Arts signatures," Malfoy, to Harry's surprised, answered, opening his eyes and letting out a frustrating sounding sigh.

"What?" Harry blinked, somehow managing to look away from Malfoy's fluttering eyelashes. Seriously, how did he have such long eyelashes?

"All types of Dark Arts leave different signatures," Malfoy answered easily, sounding surprisingly patient, almost as if he didn't mind explaining the technical aspect of his job to Harry in the least. Which, couldn't be true, because… Well, because Malfoy was supposed to be petty and impatient and not want to explain things to people he _obviously_ didn't like. "The bigger the use of the spell or artifact, the more signature they leave," Malfoy frowned, his lips turning down as he swung his long legs down off Harry's desk and deposited them back into his shoes. Harry abruptly snapped his eyes back up to Malfoy's face. "But the signature's too faint for me to really pick up, no matter what I do."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, and Malfoy frowned, raising his hand to run through his hair. It was down today, falling around his face and framing his cheekbones in a way that made them stand out even more than they usually did.

"It could mean the artifact just isn't very strong, or maybe it's been too long since it was used. I think it's more likely the person who's using it doesn't know what they're doing," Malfoy answered.

"What makes you say that?"

"Just…" Malfoy shifted against Harry's desk, making it wobble under him. He didn't seem to notice. "It feels so messy." Harry wondered vaguely if Malfoy knew all this just from his training or if he'd been taught growing up. Surprisingly, there weren't that many purebloods in Dark Art Retrieval, and a lot of the other Departments considered them odd, strange. He supposed their strange dress code was at least one thing that fit with the ministry rumor of how they were indeed strange.

"Ok," Harry answered, settling for the safe reply. Unfortunately, he seemed to break Malfoy out of whatever he was thinking about, because he turned his face toward Harry, his grey eyes suddenly sharp.

"Why the sudden curiosity, Potter?" Malfoy asked, one lip quirking up, and Harry knew he was about to be insulted before Malfoy even opened his mouth again. "Considering a Department transfer."

"As if I would want to be in the same department as you," Harry snapped back, watching in satisfaction as Malfoy's smile dropped. He pushed himself off Harry's desk, his shoulders tense as he moved across Harry's small office.

"I was reviewing the file last night, looking for anything I missed," Malfoy said, and Harry blinked at his rather awkward change of topic. Was he really not going to insult Harry back? "I've been thinking the landlady might know something more than she said in her initial interview."

"Why?" Harry asked, looking down at the papers on his desk and shifting through them, even though there was nothing he needed to rearrange. It's easier than looking at Malfoy's sharp cheekbones and grey eyes and for some reason complete disregard of Harry's rudeness.

That wasn't how it was supposed to go between them. Malfoy was supposed to make a mocking comment, and Harry insulted him, and Malfoy said something petty back, and Harry would curse him, and it would end badly. Sure, they hadn't really had a real argument the past few days but they was because Malfoy had been too busy sitting on Harry's desk, apparently checking for Dark Arts signatures. Not because...

"She just seemed nervous, evasive," Malfoy shifted his feet, his slacks clinging to his arse as he moved. Harry willed himself to keep his eyes on his desk. On his desk. Don't look at the arse.

"I guess it's worth a shot," Harry shrugged. "Not like we have anything else to do."

"We'll go in the morning?" Malfoy answered, his voice lilting in the end as if it were a question, not a command. And when had Malfoy stopped being haughty and commanding and telling everyone who could get within earshot what to do? Harry blinked at him, feeling confused and startled and having no idea why. "What?" Malfoy asked suddenly, his voice sharp with annoyance, and Harry realized he was still staring like an idiot.

"I- nothing. The morning sounds good."

* * *

"It's like he's a different person than the guy we knew in school," Harry complained, gripping the firewhiskey in his right hand as he threw his left in the air with exasperation.

"Really," Hermione answered, looking somewhere between annoyed and amused as she nursed her own firewhiskey.

"_Yes_," Harry insisted. He was starting to feel just a tad drunk, tipsy even. He took another large gulp of firewhiskey. "He's _reasonable_."

"Come on, mate," Ron said, patting his back sympathetically as Hermione glared at the two of them. "It can't be too bad. 'sides, you just have to put up with him until the case is over, right?"

"'s true," Harry slurred, looking halfheartedly down at his firewhiskey.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Hermione grumbled before she turned to Ron. "How has _your_ case been?" she asked. Ron was also an Auror, though as far as Harry knew, his casework hadn't been near as frustrating to solve as Harry's. He'd been dealing with some kind of break in at some pureblood's manor that was becoming progressingly difficult to solve. But then at least Ron hadn't had to contend with bloody Draco fucking Malfoy and his unreasonable reasonableness.

Harry sighed dramatically. He might actually have been drunk. Maybe.

"And he wears these _muggle_ clothes," he continued to complain. "It's not fair." Ron blinked at him, slow as if just beginning to figure out why Harry was annoyed by Malfoy so much. It wasn't as if Hermione and him didn't know he was Bi. He'd told them years ago after he'd broken up with Ginny, and he'd been experimenting, getting to know himself. But still, he figured it short circuited Ron's brain to think about Harry being attracted to _Malfoy._

"Harry Potter," Hermione snapped, making Harry look up at her in befuddlement. "Stop being so stupid."

"What?" Ron answered, setting his won firewhiskey down with a clack. "But he's working with-."

"Draco Malfoy's not actually so bad anymore," she interrupted. "I've worked with him a couple when we had to prosecute some tricky Dark Arts cases. He's really changed since school."

"But-," Harry started.

"Did you know his mother was murdered last year?" Hermione asked, talking over him. He opened his mouth and then closed it; he did know actually. He'd read about it in the paper; there had been a small picture of Narcissa Malfoy with a mention of Malfoy himself but no picture, and the article had said he'd been unwilling to comment. "She was killed by a pureblood. Some Voldemort supporter, who managed to get away. He apparently blamed her for Voldemort's death, since she lied about Harry being dead."

"I didn't know that," Ron muttered, and Hermione just looked at him until he flushed crimson and buried his head in his firewhiskey.

"He _is_ a different person than the one we knew in school," Hermione said confidently, eyeing Harry with a knowing look that he didn't want to try interpreting. 

* * *

Draco Malfoy was waiting in his office when Harry came in the next morning. With his head still pounding mildly in his ears from the previous night's hangover, and his and Hermione's conversation about Draco hovering over him, Harry almost turned back around and left. Except he thought that would be a little too transparent. He did, however, flush bright red as Malfoy turned toward him with his grey eyes bright.

He was actually dressed in robes, the thin tight kind they issued to ministry employees, dark grey that made his eyes look even sharper than normal. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, flicked away from his face, and Harry could just see the outline of his wand strapped to his thigh. Malfoy had obviously dressed expecting action. And somehow it just made him that much more attractive.

"They've brought in Ms. Bisham," Malfoy told him, seemingly oblivious to his reaction.

"Huh?" Harry answered smartly.

"The landlady," Malfoy huffed, and then he seemed to really look at Harry, his lips twisting into satisfied smirk. His hips shifted, one hand falling to his waist as he almost posed. "Unless, of course, you had something else in mind," he said, his voice soft and silky in the air between them, his chin turned to the side, grey eyes soft and amused as he stared back at Harry. And Malfoy's blatant mockery of Harry's attraction to him shouldn't have been attractive.

"Oh, bugger off," Harry snapped, his face heating up even more as he turned on his heel to storm out of his own office, and he could hear Malfoy laughing quietly behind him. 

He knew where Bisham would be, so it wasn't particularly hard to stomp across the Auror Department and stop in front of the squat little office door with a plate glass window. Malfoy was right behind him as he went, reaching past him and grabbing the door handle as soon as he stopped. Harry jerked back, glaring at Malfoy's invasion of privacy, but Malfoy just smirked at him and went into the room.

"Ms. Bisham," Malfoy said as soon as Harry had closed the door behind him. The room was small, well furnished, cozy. There was a dark brown table that Ms. Bisham was sitting at, and that Malfoy had also sat across from her at. Harry chose to stay standing. "I understand you knew Jasmine Bradbury."

"Oh, yes," Bisham answered, her eyes flicking around the room before settling on Harry, up to his forehead, widening, down to his eyes, back to Malfoy. "Such a sweet girl. It was terrible what happened."

"Indeed," Malfoy answered, and Harry had a feeling if they weren't talking to a witness, his top lip would have curled when he said it.

"Ms. Bisham?" Harry asked, stepping forward before Malfoy could say something that would probably get them both fired. "Was there anything strange about Jasmine's life? Either personal or professional? Anything you may have noticed?"

"Something you may have forgotten to mention the first time you were interviewed?" Malfoy said, his voice low and Harry could hear the accusation, half-hidden. It was obvious from the way Bisham sat up straight in her chair that she could too.

"Well, I don't know."

"Lives are at stake, Ms. Bisham," Harry said, glaring at the back of Malfoy's head.

"Unless, of course, you don't care about that?" Malfoy answered, leaning back in his chair. He brought his hand up, examining his nails as if he couldn't care less about her reaction, though Harry could see the way he watched her out of the corner of his grey eyes. 

"Are you saying you think _I_ did this?" Bisham asked; Malfoy just shrugged, and Harry glared harder at him.

"We're not saying that," Harry reassured her.

"Jasmine was a nice girl," Bisham insisted.

"Then why is she dead," Malfoy asked, blunt, still staring down at his nails.

"She was a nice girl but she wasn't always a good girl," Bisham sighed. "I know she was having an affair of some sort. Some older man, someone she wasn't supposed to be seeing."

"Did you know his name?" Harry asked.

"She never told me," Bisham answered. "But I know where they usually met," she shrugged. "Maybe you'll find him there."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Didn't want to drag her through the mud, I suppose," she sighed.

"You'd prefer we never caught her killer?" Malfoy asked, standing, and Bisham bit her lip as she looked up at him. And Malfoy swept out of the room with a dramatic brush of his robes that he had to have learned from Snape. Harry smiled thinly at Bisham before following him. 

"What was that?" he snapped at Malfoy.

"What?" Malfoy answered, pausing in the corridor and raising an eyebrow.

"Why were you acting like that?" Harry gestured behind then, pointing vaguely toward the room Bisham was still in. "If you were going to be rude to a witness-."

"She needed to be manipulated into telling the truth," Malfoy interrupted, frowning at him. "I thought we actually worked well together." Harry could only stare at him; Malfoy thought... he'd been planning, and Harry had... He couldn't exactly _argue; _they _had _worked well, Malfoy pushing her buttons while Harry soothed her enough to get her to talk. Still, it felt- it shouldn't have felt good. 

"Next time," he said. "Tell me." Malfoy just shrugged. 

* * *

They were standing outside the muggle inn, both cast in disillusion charms as they watched the entrance. It was the place Bisham had said Jasmine used to meet her lover; she'd only known because Jasmine had owned a key with the room numbers and name of the inn on it. So far though, no one had come or gone. The owner hadn't known anything, and Harry was stuck standing outside with Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy, who still somehow looked immaculate and sexy, even after three hours of standing outside in the heat. It was just starting to get dark, and Harry's stomach was starting to growl, and this was getting ridiculous. How long were they going to stay here?

"You're hungry?" Malfoy asked, and Harry felt him move around next to him.

"No," Harry snapped. Truthfully, he was starving. He was just still pissed at Malfoy for what had happened in their interview. Even though he knew rationally his plan had been sound.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter," Malfoy hissed at him, his grey eyes dark and annoyed, and Harry realized it was the first time since they'd started working together that Malfoy had actually snapped at him. "Do stop being a child, will you?"

"What? Like you?" Harry answered back, and Malfoy's grey eyes darken even further. He turned toward Harry fully, shifting around as his robes brushed across the floor.

"If you have a problem, maybe it's time you just out and said it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry muttered, tilting his eyes away from Malfoy's face.

"You're such a liar, Potter."

"I'm the liar!" Harry answered, wrenching around to get in Malfoy's face before he could stop himself. And it was just like Auror training all over again, both of them facing each other, eyes flashing, panting, the air charged between them, knowing they should be mature enough not to yell like teenagers but doing it anyway.

"Yes, you!" Malfoy snapped, his lip curling up so Harry could see his perfect teeth. "You pretend like you're not prejudice but you've been judging me for no reason the past three days! You keep pretending like you have any idea who I am, when it's obvious you have no idea!"

"In case you forgot, Malfoy," Harry answered. "I knew you in school. You were the one who called my best friend a mudblood; how much different could you possibly be?"

Malfoy's eyes widened as he stepped closer, and he was obviously blazing with anger, with self-righteousness, but Harry was right. They both knew he was right.

"I was a stupid kid in school, who believed every word my father told me," Malfoy said, and Harry jerked in surprise. Malfoy just stared at him, his grey eyes wide and riveting. "My father was so full of hate and prejudice that he couldn't see how wrong he was about everything, and he breathed that same hate into me." He had one single strand of hair falling out of his ponytail, draping across his face in an attractive arch. And they were standing too close, Harry just realizing he could feel Malfoy's breath blowing across his face. His eyes dropped down, focusing on Malfoy's lips for half a second before he forced his gaze back up.

"You have no idea how much I wish it didn't take a war and a Dark Lord and my mother dying for me to realize just how wrong my father had been," Malfoy answered, his voice barely a whisper of a breath between them now, and he was looking down, his grey eyes right on Harry's own lips, "No, idea," Malfoy managed, and Harry could just see the beginning of a blush across his cheeks, and it shouldn't have made him want to kiss Malfoy more, especially since he wouldn't have even thought up until that point that Malfoy _could _blush. Harry was leaning forward, Malfoy's startled gasp hot on his lip, and he-

Then Malfoy was wrenching away from him, turning abruptly toward the inn, his grey eyes suddenly alert.

"Someone went into her room," Malfoy muttered, already running toward the inn doors, and Harry blinked once, twice, staring after him and wondering what the Hell he was talking about. "Potter!" Malfoy called over his shoulder, sounding exasperated; Harry jumped, looking up at Jasmine's shared room with her lover to see the light on, a shape moving around on the inside, and he remembered abruptly that they still had a job to do.

"Right," he blinked, racing after Malfoy.

When Harry entered the inn, Malfoy was already turning the corner toward Jasmine's room. Her door was ajar, the light still on as they approached. Malfoy paused, looking back at him, one hand wrapped around his wand, the other on the door. Harry slipped his own wand into his hand before nodding, and they were bounding into the room, the door shoved out of the way.

There was only one person inside, her brown hair whipping around as she turned to face them. Her eyes widened as she fumbled with her wand.

"Aurors," Harry yelled. "Drop your wand!"

"Aurors?" the woman answered, dropping her hand away from her wand. "Why are Aurors here?"

"We're looking into the death of Jasmine Bradbury," Malfoy answered lowering his wand as he cocked his head at her.

"Jasmine Brad-," the woman sighed, running a hand over her face. "I don't know a Bradbury. I'm looking for my father. He's been missing for a couple days now, and I found this key in his things. I thought…" she sighed, shrugging, and Harry looked over at Malfoy, watching as his grey eyes sharped in that way he was coming to understand meant Malfoy was putting the pieces together.

* * *

"Should we be worried?" Angela Johnson asked, stepping forward with her eyes on Malfoy.

"I don't think so," Harry answered, though truthfully, he had no idea. He shifted as he watched Malfoy; they were standing in the middle of Martin Johnson's house, his daughter standing a little off to the side as she watched them search. After she'd explained that her father had been missing for several days, she'd been more than happy to drag them back to his house and see them in.

Malfoy had immediately started muttering spell after spell, frowning at nothing as his scowl grew wider every time he flicked his wand. For Harry's part, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, definitely nothing he would have found suspicious. Even the daughter was no help. She'd told him she'd had a feeling her father was seeing someone, but she'd never seen who. She also had no idea why he'd been meeting her at some backstreet inn instead of his own home, considering he was divorced.

"Well, the artifact was definitely here," Malfoy muttered, flicking his wand one more time.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"It means the signatures still too faint for me to really pick up," he sighed, running a hand through his hair and somehow still leaving the ponytail looking perfect. "I could maybe find something, but it'll take time."

"Ah," Harry answered, though he didn't really understand. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him, grey eyes sharp as if he knew Harry didn't understand; Harry cleared his throat and turned to Angela. "We'll be out of your hair."

"But-," she started.

"We'll let you know if we find your father," Malfoy interrupted. "Otherwise, let _us _know if you get any new information."

"I…" she sighed. "Alright."

Malfoy nodded to him, and Harry turned feeling awkward as he walked out of the house, watching as Angela shut it behind them. He hesitated, half-turning toward the nearest Apparition point and half-turning toward Malfoy as if they had any more business to do. Except they didn't. No doubt Malfoy wanted him out of his hair.

"Should we get dinner, then?" Malfoy said, clearing his throat, and Harry turned toward him completely, blinking slowly. Malfoy was still standing there, looking as if he hadn't moved an inch, just standing and watching Harry as if he had nothing better to do with his life. He was all haughty arrogance, one raised eyebrow as if he was daring Harry to say no, one side of his mouth lifted into a smirk. And it _shouldn't_ have been so attractive.

"Alright," Harry answered before he'd really thought about it, and Malfoy's lips curved up into a genuine smile, and he was turning away, but not before Harry saw the pleased surprise on his face. Not before Harry realized that Malfoy had really thought he'd say no.

"I know a good place not fair from here," he said. "We could walk if you'd like."

"Alright," Harry repeated, and he was following Malfoy down the street.

"You're staring at me," Malfoy said once they'd turned the first corner, and Harry started. He turned away abruptly, realized that yes, he had been staring. He could feel his face flushing bright red, and he almost tripped over his own feet when he realized Malfoy was smiling, the left side of his mouth curved up. And Harry couldn't decide if he was being mocked or not. "See something you like?" Malfoy asked. Definitely mocked. Well, Harry could play the game too.

"Maybe," he answered, his voice a low challenge, and Malfoy's sharp inhale was loud in the quiet night around them.

"I don't think your girlfriend would much appreciate that, Potter," he said, coming to a stop, turning to face Harry, and Harry had no choice but to do the same.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he didn't know why he said it. He could have just shrugged and nodded; he'd done it before when someone he didn't like was coming onto him, and it was clear from the way Malfoy's grey eyes flicked down his form and then back up that Malfoy was coming onto him. But this seemed important. It seemed important to make it clear that Harry was not taken.

"Oh?" Malfoy answered.

"No boyfriend either," he said.

"Oh," Malfoy answered, his voice low, intense, grey eyes sharp on Harry's face. His lips curved up, eyes crinkling as he smiled, and for some reason, Harry _knew _he wasn't being mocked this time, though he had no idea whether he could trust the feeling, _should _trust it.

Then Malfoy was stepping back, gesturing behind him and up toward a brightly lit building behind him that Harry was just now noticing. It was labeled _Monto's Italian, _the sign lit up with several magical lights.

"We're here," Malfoy said.

"Italian?" Harry asked, and Malfoy just shrugged before heading inside. They were given a table almost immediately, swept off into a booth at the back of the restaurant with a candle placed between them. Malfoy stared down at it for a long minute before letting out a snort and turning his face away.

"What?" Harry asked, frowning across the table at him. He rather liked the candle.

"Just the romance of it all," Malfoy answered, sighing heavily, and Harry was suddenly reminded of why he'd always thought Malfoy to be so conceited. "As if it's what everyone wants."

"Isn't it?" Harry snapped back, and Malfoy fixed his grey eyes on him, looking somewhere between offended and angry.

"Since it's not what I want, and I happen to be included in everyone, I'd say no."

"Then why are we here?" Harry asked, his voice unintentionally sharp.

"Maybe because the food is good," Malfoy snapped back, his eyes flashing.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" a new voice asked, and Harry jumped at the sudden appearance of their waiter.

"Water," Harry answered, not even bothering to look away from Malfoy, who seemed to take his order as a challenge.

"A glass of Didier Dagueneau," Malfoy ordered, and the waiter was gone in the next second, obviously glad to be away from them. Harry blinked at him; he knew the wine Malfoy had order was expensive. One of the most expensive probably, but he also knew it was nowhere near the most expensive. And he was mildly surprised that Malfoy hadn't bothered to order something outrageous.

"Practicing moderation?" he asked.

"Well," Malfoy blinked at him, long and slow, and Harry was suddenly reminded of a cat right before it caught its prey. A very attractive cat. "If the war taught me anything, it was moderation."

And Harry couldn't help but deflate at that. He leaned back in his seat, looking away from Malfoy, and he suddenly wished their drinks were there so he could do something with his hands. Somehow, he'd forgotten everything the Malfoy's had lost in the war, how much reparations they'd had to pay. The endless rounds of court before they were finally placed under house arrest.

"Don't look so chastised, Potter," Malfoy sighed abruptly. "It's hardly a good look on you." Harry looked up to find Malfoy, leaning back as well, looking at him through his eyelashes, his hands wrapped tight around each other as they sit on the table.

"You know, I saw you," Harry told him, and Malfoy raised an eyebrow, as if telling him how absurd his statement was. "During the war. I saw how Voldemort made you torture people. I saw how scared you were of him."

"You…" Malfoy stared at him, his eyes wide. "How could you have…"

"We…" Harry cleared his throat, already regretting bringing it up. "Voldemort and I shared a connection. I could- you know, I could sometimes see into his mind. See through his eyes."

"And you saw me?" Malfoy asked, and Harry couldn't tell if he was angry or not. He certainly looked angry, looking at Harry with narrowed eyes, his cheeks slightly flushed, but he didn't sound it.

"Not only you," Harry said, as if that somehow made it better.

"Here you are," the waiter said, and Harry's water was suddenly out in front of him, followed closely by Draco's wine. "Are you ready to order?" he asked, looking outrageously hopeful that they were.

"Uh," Harry answered, looking down at his menu, because no, he wasn't. And no, he hadn't even looked at the thing. He'd been completely wrapped up in Malfoy.

"I'd like the lobster ravioli," Malfoy said, and Harry found himself snorting before he could hold it in. Because really, of course, Malfoy would order something like that. Malfoy glared at him from across the table.

"Uh, fettuccini alfredo, I guess," he said, picking randomly. The waiter nodded and was gone again. Harry turned his gaze away from Malfoy, feeling awkward. He cleared his throat, took a liberal drink of water before clearing his throat again, all the while feeling Malfoy's eyes on him. This had all been a terrible idea.

"I'm surprised your breakup wasn't in the _daily prophet_," Malfoy said, breaking the silence after what felt like forever.

"What?" Harry blinked at him.

"The Golden Couple," Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Potter and Weasley. You know? I'm surprised it was never reported; the _daily prophet _seems to get a kick out of reporting your love life."

"Oh, yeah," Harry felt himself blushing, though he had no idea why. He'd talked about this before; he shouldn't be embarrassed just because it was Malfoy of all people asking. "After the war, we just kind of fell apart. We wanted different things."

"You wanted romance?" Malfoy asked, his lips quirking.

"So, what if I did?" Harry snapped back, and Malfoy just sighed, turning his face away. And the regret shot through Harry so fast, he almost didn't know what to do with it. Malfoy had been mocking him; he'd reacted as he'd always had, so why did Malfoy look so…

_Maybe because Malfoy wasn't _really_ mocking you? _a little voice whispered, tickling the back of his mind, and Harry shoved it away before it could say something else absurd.

He glanced up, managing to actually seeing the waiter approach this time. He smiled at Harry, showing shining white teeth as he placed the alfredo in front of him, followed by Malfoy's Ravioli.

"Everything look alright?" he asked.

"Wonderful," Malfoy answered, looking as if didn't mean it at all. "Thank you." The waiter gave him a curious look before nodding and heading away.

Malfoy spun his fork between his fingers as he began to eat, occasionally picking up his knife to cut the bigger ravioli into smaller pieces. He didn't look up at Harry once, though Harry was staring at him, and it was clear that Malfoy wasn't going to be the one to start a conversation this time.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly; Malfoy's eyes flicked up to him, then away. He put another piece of ravioli delicately in his mouth. Harry resisted the urge to sigh. He supposed he deserved the silent treatment after the way he'd shot down the previous topics. He didn't even know _why _he cared whether Malfoy talked to him or not. He should have been happy enough just finishing his food and leaving. Except he just wasn't.

"Why didn't you protest?" he blurted suddenly.

"What?" Malfoy asked, blinking up at him, a piece of ravioli half-way between his mouth and the plate.

"When you got assigned to work the case with me, you said you didn't protest. Why not?" he asked again, and he would be lying if he said the answered hadn't been burning at him. Malfoy sighed, putting his fork down.

"I don't hate you, Potter," he answered, his grey eyes steady on Harry's face. "I'm not sure I ever did. I was jealous of you, and I was foolish in how I showed it, but I didn't hate you. When my supervisor said I was assigned to you, I figured why not," Malfoy shrugged. "At least, it was a chance to get past all the bad, right?"

"Hermione says you've changed," Harry said, and again, he didn't know why he did, didn't know why he cared so much. But he just knew that this felt important. This conversation felt as if they were on the tipping point of something, and he just _needed _to know which way they would fall.

"Ah, Granger," Malfoy breathed out, and if Harry didn't know better, he would have said Malfoy's expression was fond. "She married to Weasley yet?"

"Engaged," Harry answered.

"Well, tell her to stop by when she gets the chance. I haven't had a good persecution case in a while," and then he was turning back to his food as if the conversation was over, except it wasn't. It couldn't be.

"So, she's right?" Harry asked, and Malfoy blinked up at him.

"Haven't _you_ changed since the war, Potter?" he answered. "Is it so insane to think that I have too?"

"I just-."

"I told you how my father was full of hate, and I think you know how that hate cost him. How it cost me," Malfoy told him, grey eyes serious, unhappy. "And for what? How many people died just so we purebloods could say we were better? I didn't deserve what happened to me; my mother didn't deserve to die; Granger didn't deserve to be tortured in my house. All that nonsense because of blood purity, and no one even has any idea that the only thing it means is death," he smiled, looking bitter and tired, and Harry was reaching across the table, his fingers wrapping around Malfoy's.

And Malfoy was looking back at him, his eyes wide and full of some emotion that Harry didn't have any idea how to even start sorting through.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, the air quiet between them, intense, intimate.

"I don't want you to apologize," Malfoy answered, his voice just as quiet, his hand turning up, fingers twining through Harry's. "I want you to understand."

"I think I'm starting to."

* * *

Malfoy shoved him hard, his back colliding with the wall behind him as Malfoy's lips landing on his. Harry groaned in Malfoy's mouth, opening up as Malfoy's tongue entered his mouth, tracing the line of his top lip before stroking along his tongue.

Harry was only half aware of how they'd gotten here, and part of him was still back at the restaurant, sitting across from Malfoy and deciding whether he should trust him or not.

Malfoy's hand wound itself into his hair, yanking his head back as Malfoy attacked his neck, and Harry was making horribly loud needy sounds, echoing off the alley around them, hoping against hope no one would come. But it wasn't as if he could push Malfoy off when he was sucking right _there—_and how had he known exactly where Harry was sensitive, licking and then sucking, biting, and Harry knew he'd have a hickey there tomorrow, but he couldn't make himself _care._

Malfoy had only paid for his own meal, casting Harry an unimpressed look when he'd said Malfoy should pay for both since it had been his idea. And Harry… had kind of liked it. It had been a while since he'd been out with someone new, who neither felt the need to fall over themselves trying to impress him or waited for him to impress them. Even Ginny had been that way, waiting for Harry to pick up the check everywhere they had gone.

They'd stopped just outside the restaurant; Harry had intended of just saying goodnight. He had been planning on running off, going back to his house and thinking long and hard about everything that had happened, because surely he had lost his mind somewhere earlier in the day.

Except he had stopped, and Malfoy had stopped, and just as he was turning to look at Malfoy—to say goodnight—Malfoy had licked his lips—licked his lips, as if people did that in real life. And Harry had attacked him, his arms thrown around his neck, lips pressed against Malfoy's. He would have blamed the drinks, except he hadn't had any.

And he still had no idea how they'd gotten into the alley. Not that he could care right then.

Malfoy released his hair, leaning back up and pressing his lips against Harry's again with a vengeance. Harry could taste the wine on his tongue, slightly bitter, obviously expensive. He moaned loudly as Malfoy pressed his thigh between Harry's legs, grinding against his crotch.

"Merlin, _Harry_," Malfoy said, and he sounded wrecked. Had Harry done that to him? It didn't seem possible, but then he felt wrecked too, and it was entirely Malfoy's fault. "Let me take you home?" he said, his voice pitching as if it was a question, as if it was entirely Harry's choice, and yet he'd still managed to word it like an order, and Harry moaned against his mouth, because it was all so entirely _Malfoy._

"Yes, God. Yes!" he managed.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry panted against Malfoy's mouth, his shirt getting tangled around his arms before being thrown to the ground. When had they lost their robes? They were against the door to Malfoy's bedroom, making loud unmistakable sounds of sex as they rubbed their clothed erections against each other. And Harry should have found it mildly concerning that he didn't exactly remember _how _they'd wound up in Malfoy's room.

There had been stairs and kissing and cocks and someone had laughed at one point though he hadn't been sure if it was him or Malfoy. And now Malfoy was pinning him to the door, his hands everywhere and nowhere Harry wanted them. Harry clutched at him, running his hands through Malfoy's hair, grabbing his shoulders, feeling his knees weaken as Malfoy laved his tongue into Harry's mouth.

And then they were turning, tumbling toward the bed, still half dress, Malfoy still on top if him. Harry heard a loud obscene sound come out of his mouth. Something that was a cross between a whine and moan, and Malfoy buried his face in the crook of his neck, chuckling quietly. And when had Malfoy lost his shirt?

Malfoy was straddling him, his crotch easily lined up with Harry's, his knees on either side of Harry's hips, rocking back and forth, his nose still buried in Harry's neck as if he was afraid to come out.

"Oh, my God, Malfoy," Harry muttered, feeling lost. It felt so good. Better than he remembered sex feeling, and he was sure it hadn't been _that_ long since he'd had it.

"Draco," Malfoy told him.

"What?"

"Call me Draco," Malfoy told him.

"Ok," Harry answered, his hands wrapping around Malfoy's arse, rocking him forward and back and forward again, increasing the pressure and the friction. Malfoy had a wonderful arse. "I want to be inside you," he said, only half aware that the words were leavng his mouth.

"Oh, Merlin, yes," Draco groaned, his voice tight and full of lust and passion, and he was reaching down to his thigh, pulling his wand out of the holster there—and how in the world was it still in there—flicking it once, and they were both naked, Harry's cock springing out to bounce against his stomach, while Draco's arse turned hot and firm beneath his hands, and Harry couldn't help but moan at the feeling.

Draco flicked his wand again, and Harry suddenly felt the lube start to leak out of Draco's hole. Draco winced as he was magically stretched, squirming against Harry's hands as he got used to the feeling. So, it was to be fast and hard then? Harry could do that.

He took his handful of Draco's arse and flipped them. Draco gasped, staring up at Harry with wide grey eyes, his long blonde hair a tangled halo on the pillow under him. And Harry was sinking into his heat easily, letting Draco groan and wrap his legs around his waist.

And it was quick and hard, Harry pounding into Draco as hard as he could, brushing against his prostate as often as he could with Draco moaning and gasping and clutching the sheets under him. Draco was biting his lip, his grey eyes locked on Harry with a fever that Harry wasn't at all used to when he was in bed with someone.

When Harry was so close to the edge he couldn't take it anymore, he wrapped his hand around Draco's cock, watching as Draco whined. And he stroked once, twice, and then Draco was coming against their stomachs. And Harry couldn't take the feeling of Draco tightening around him, and he was following him over, collapsing against Draco as his orgasm overtook him.

Harry recovered first, shifting with a groan away from the sticky mess of cum and pulling out. Draco winced, and shifted, his hand clutching tight around Harry's back. His lips twisted when he shifted his legs and the cum dripped out of his hole, and Harry momentary felt bad. He should probably clean up, but he didn't exactly know where his wand was, which was bad.

Except he couldn't bring himself to be concerned.

"You should probably cast a cleaning spell," he muttered, drawing Draco close to his body. Draco grumbled against him, but did.

* * *

Harry woke feeling horribly comfortable. There was an arm thrown across his stomach, a leg across his hips. He was draped across a large comfortable bed, silk sheets covering his lower body, high enough for him not to feel completely exposed. It was obvious he wasn't in his own bed. More than obvious from the way Malfoy's head nuzzled into his neck, his naked body pressed against Harry's own, was why he wasn't in his own bed.

He bit his lip, resisting the urge to groan. What had he been thinking? He couldn't even blame it on being drunk, because he'd been stone cold sober. Malfoy had been the one that was drinking. Which really, how drunk could he have gotten off one glass of wine? The man needed to work on his tolerance.

Harry shifted under Malfoy, breathing a sigh when Malfoy made a displeased sound but let him go easily. He shifted, turning himself away from Harry and burrowing into the sheets. And Harry had to bite his lip hard to keep from smiling at the picture he made. He'd never imagined Malfoy would be such a snuggler. Much less so cute when he did it.

He looked away, abruptly cutting off that line of thought. It was still dark outside, the curtains over the windows open just wide enough for Harry to pick that up. Good, he wouldn't have to pass anyone on the street looking as if he'd just shagged his partner.

His partner who up until last night he'd hated.

And it really, it wasn't like you could just flip the switch on these feeling things.

Harry stepped out of the bed, feeling around for his clothes. He stepped on his belt with a curse, and fumbled the trousers attached, struggling to get them on. He'd have to worry about his pants later. His shirt was hanging on the dresser, and he didn't even want to think about how it had ended up there; he didn't _remember _throwing it. He was doing up the last piece of his robes when Malfoy's sleepy voice interrupted him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, and Harry froze, half-turning toward him. Malfoy was sitting up in bed, his hair an absolute disaster as it hung along his shoulder. One side of his face bright red from lying across the bed. He wasn't wearing any clothes, that much was obvious from the thin sheet around his waist.

"Uh," Harry answered, feeling awkward, cursing himself for not being quiet enough, fast enough from talking to him.

"You're dressed," Malfoy commented, blinking at him slowly.

"Yeah, well, I…" he trailed off, and Malfoy's frown deepened as if he really couldn't see where Harry was about to be going with his explanation. "I thought I should be going."

"Why?"

"Because we…" Harry blinked, and Malfoy was suddenly sitting up straight, his grey eyes sharp, showing no sign that he'd just been sleeping. "I mean, we were done." And it sounded so awful as soon as it came out. As if he was just using Malfoy. Except they _were _just using each other, weren't they? It wasn't like Malfoy actually _liked _him or something.

"Are we?" Malfoy answered, his voice sharp enough that Harry had to stop himself from flinching away. And Malfoy was throwing the sheet aside, standing, looking complete unabashed about his glorious nakedness, and Merlin, Harry sudden remembered why he'd been so desperate to be in that.

"So, what? You've had you're shag and now it's time for you to run along to your next conquest. My, Potter, I didn't actually take you for being the fuck 'em and leave 'em type," and Malfoy was sneering at him, his chin held high, voice as condescending and mocking as it could possibly get, and Harry had no idea what he'd ever seen in him.

"Don't act so innocent," Harry snapped back. "Don't pretend like this wasn't what you wanted too."

"No, you're right," Malfoy sniffed haughtily. "I invite strangers into my bed on a daily basis. I use my scar to do it and everything."

Harry stared at him, because that… that was too far. Harry would never—had never used his scar to… He hated when people admired him for it; he hated when people only liked him for it. It had been one of the few things about Malfoy he truly respected. And Malfoy must have seen on his face that he'd taken his taunting a step too far past their invisible line, because his eyes flickered, and there was a touch of regret, quickly swept away, gone so fast Harry could have imagined it.

"I'm leaving," Harry stated, turning on his heel, and he was already half-way to the door before he heard Malfoy speak again, his voice low and tired, and Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to have heard it at all.

"Good for you, Potter."

* * *

He didn't sleep the rest of the morning. He tried to, rolling over onto his stomach, his back, his side. Getting water, going to the bathroom before slipping back under the cover. But he couldn't get Malfoy out of his head, the way he'd looked when he'd come, the way he's been so relaxed struggled against him, the way he'd looked a mess, trusting Harry to see him like that, the way he'd been so angry when Harry had left. He couldn't help but feel as if he was missing something, though he had no idea what.

Then 5:00 was rolling around, and Harry sighed, just giving up completely. It wasn't like it would be the first time he'd go without sleep. He waited as long as he possibly could before going into the office. Even though it makes no sense to avoid it; it wasn't like it would be any less awkward the longer he waited.

As it turned out, Malfoy wasn't in his office when he finally mustered the courage to show up. There was no sigh of his grey eyes or his blonde hair, no sign of his absurd dressing or Harry's papers scattered across the floor as if he'd been sitting on his desk again. And the whole space just suddenly felt very empty without him there.

Harry sat behind his desk, looking across at the mountain of paperwork that had been piling up since he'd started working with Malfoy. He'd never seemed able to focus long enough to get anything done when he was there, looking tall and lean and attractive with his long legs folded under him as he balanced precariously on Harry's desk.

Harry cursed, rubbing his eyes as he reached determinately for a stack of paperwork. He was going to being productive. He was. He wasn't going to let Malfoy haunt him.

It was almost noon when the paper arrived in his office, and Harry was feeling particularly proud of himself for having kept Malfoy out of his head for almost an half an hour. Then he flinched when the paper struck him across the nose, landing across his desk while unfolding himself. He knew immediately it was from Malfoy just by the elegant scrawl across the page.

_I've found where the signature leads. Meet me in my office at the earliest convenience._

_-Malfoy_

He bit his lip hard, his hand tight around the paper, creating wrinkles along the edges. Rationally, he knew it wasn't actually the papers fault that the note was so… cold. No greetings, no acknowledgements. Just a call for Harry to come and do his job. Malfoy couldn't even be bothered to come down to his office and tell him in person. And Harry couldn't help thinking that the change in his demeanor was entirely because he now knew Harry wasn't interested in another shag. Because that had been the only thing he'd wanted Harry for in the first place.

And he was storming up to Malfoy's office before he could stop himself, before he could actually think through what he was going to _do_. It was easy to find Malfoy's office once he was at the Department of Dark Art Retrieval. Malfoy had a large black sign along his door, painted in black script letters, his door shut tightly. Harry ignored the woman who gawking at him, her hands shoved into the pockets of a bright yellow dress and shoved the door to Malfoy's office open.

"What is _this_?" he demanded, holding the piece of paper up. Malfoy looked up from his desk, his grey eyes cold, emotionless, calculating.

"Ah, you got my note," he said, and Harry blinked when he turned his attention promptly away as if Harry was some nuisance his day required him to deal with. "Ready to go, then," it wasn't a question. Malfoy was already standing, his back to Harry as he grabbed his wand off the desk, sliding it into the holster along his thigh.

"I…" Harry answered, sounding uncertain and small in Malfoy's office, with someone he realized actually wanted nothing more to do with him.

"We'll have to side along," Malfoy said, stepping up to him, and Harry could feel Malfoy's heat burn along his side, the force of Malfoy as overwhelming as if ever was as he grasped Harry's arm in his ahdn, and then they were spiraling, the sickening pull of Apparition twisting through Harry's body.

Malfoy let him go as soon as they landed, stepping away, his head turning to the side so Harry couldn't see his expression, though he swore Malfoy was blushing. But he couldn't be. Harry shook his head, turning his attention to the building in front of them. They were in front of a large warehouse structure; it was just beginning to rust, the copper looking red as the sun bounced off it.

"This is it?" Harry asked, and Malfoy shrugged.

The inside was mostly empty. It housed a couple of large crates, supplies along the shelves, but there was nothing that screaming suspicious to Harry. Nothing that he would have thought they were looking for.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Harry asked, stopping next to Malfoy after the second time around the warehouse. Malfoy stared around the space, his eyebrows furrowed, thinking.

"I don't know," he answered. "I- something doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean?"

"The artifact should be here," Malfoy said. "I can feel it, but it's like its… muted."

"But-."

"You're smarted than I gave you credit for," the voice said, interrupted Harry and echoing across the large space. Harry reacted instinctively, putting himself in front of Malfoy and drawing his wand. He heard a strangled gasp behind him, but he was more focused on the man in front of him.

Short, just beginning to bald, late thirties probably, not terribly handsome but not unattractive. He was holding his wand in his right hand, brandishing a ring with a bright silver crystal in the other as if it was some kind of weapon, and Harry knew without Malfoy telling him that it was. Harry flicked his wand, the stunning charm flying toward the man.

"No!" Malfoy yelled from behind him, and he watched with an astonished kind of fascination as his spell rebounded off the man's ring, flying back at him. And there were hands on his back, shoving him out of the way, and he barely had time to catch himself as he landed hard on the cement under him, much less turn and watch his stunning charm catch Malfoy across the chest.

"Malfoy…" Harry muttered, watching as he went stiff, his grey eyes losing focus, and then he was collapsing, falling with thud onto the cement.

"Ouch," the man laughed, stalking closer.

"Stay there," Harry snapped, raising his wand.

"You can't do anything to me," he answered, twisting his ring around and blatantly pointing it at Malfoy. "If you do, it'll actually be your friend here that feels it."

Harry hesitated, watching as his wand trembled in front of him. He just needed a minute. A minute to think his way out of this. He would come up with something; he knew he would.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"The name's Martin," the man answered immediately, and Harry had to keep himself from gaping.

"Martin Johnson?" he asked, and Johnson scowled at him as if he disliked Harry knowing exactly who he was. "Your daughter's worried about you."

"Let her stay worried," Johnson snapped.

"You killed Jasmine Bradbury," Harry told him, as if Johnson didn't already know it. Johnson bared his teeth, his smile harsh and dark, and Harry wondered vaguely just how much the Dark Artifact had screwed up his mind.

"She had it coming," he said. "We had a plan, and she refused to follow it," one finger stroked along the ring on his hand. "She got greedy. Wanted the ring all to herself."

"What plan?" Harry asked, and Johnson frowned as if he couldn't quite remember, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought.

"We needed money," he muttered, apparently talking to himself now. "It was supposed to be simple. Fast. Just a little money. The ring would speed things along…"

"I can get you money," Harry promised. "Just let me and my friend go, then we can-."

"No!" Johnson answered, his wand raising, pointing up and into Harry's face. "No, I need him."

"Why do you need him?" Harry asked, keeping his voice low, level, calm. He just needed to stall for time. If he could keep Johnson talking he would be able to think of _something._

"He understands it," he stroked across the ring again, his touch soft. "He can teach me to control it."

"Johnson," Harry said, and he could feel the panic welling up in him. He couldn't just let Johnson take Malfoy; he couldn't. He had to _think._ "This isn't-."

"Shut up!" he snapped, and he was already reaching down, his hand closing around Malfoy's upper arm.

"Stop!" Harry cried out, lunging forward, and he just managed to slot himself between the two of them before there was a blinding flash of light, something striking against his head, and he was falling, collapsing against the cement a second time, stars across his eyes, watching helpless as Johnson grabbed Malfoy by the arm a second time and Disapparated away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your reviews!


	3. Chapter 3

Harry came around to Ron's face above him. Ron's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Harry wrenched upright, gasping and almost colliding with Ron as he did.

"Whoa, mate," Ron said, pulling away, the hand on Harry's shoulder turning abruptly restraining. He was dressed in his Auror robes, his wand in his right hand, and Harry could see a couple of other figures similarly dressed moving around behind him. "You were out pretty good."

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"After you and Malfoy left, you never came back. After five hours of you not checking in or anything, Shacklebolt sent us to find you," Ron said. "We found you here."

"Draco!" Harry gasped, pulling away from Ron and standing. His head spun, and he almost hit the ground again, but he managed to stay standing, walking unsteadily toward the entrance to the warehouse.

"Harry!" Ron called, chasing after him. "Harry, wait! You can't just-."

"Johnson!" Harry answered, feeling numb and disbelieving. 

"What?" Ron asked, following him as they stepped into the sun.

"He has Malfoy, Ron."

"Harry, what _are_ you talking about!" Ron snapped, grabbing Harry's arm and making him come to a stop.

"Johnson," Harry said, feeling unbelievably frustrated. They didn't have time for this. Didn't Ron know that Draco didn't have time? "He's the one who has the artifact, and he took Malfoy."

"Ok," Ron said slowly. "And do you know where he is?" Harry stared at him, blinking once, then twice before the truth sank in.

"No," he muttered. "I have no idea."

"Ok," Ron answered. "Ok. It's ok, mate. Let's just… We'll talk to Hermione, yeah?"

"Yeah, ok."

* * *

"He said they needed money," Harry said. He was sitting in Hermione and Ron's living room, clutching a cup of tea in his hand, which was doing nothing to make him feel better.

"Maybe he was talking about Gringotts?" Hermione answered. She was pacing in front of him, a deep frown on her face as she held her wand so tightly, her fingers turning white.

"He said they just needed a little money," Harry argued. "That seems like a big risk for a little money." They'd been talking in circles, getting nowhere, and he knew Draco didn't have time for them to be making up their minds like this.

"Well, maybe….," Hermione started, trailing off as she didn't have actually have an idea.

"Ugh!" Harry snapped. "Why did Kingsley even assign me Malfoy?" he asked, frustrated and annoyed, and feeling that somehow if it was anyone but Malfoy this wouldn't have happened, that Harry would have been able to do something--anything. But Malfoy had stepped in front of him, and then he had been unconscious, and Harry had panicked.

And why had Harry ever thought he was only ever a stuck up pureblood brat when he obviously wasn't.

"Kingsley didn't assign him," Hermione answered, and she had stopped pacing as she turned and frowned at him.

"What?"

"Malfoy asked to be assigned to the case," Hermione told him.

"Why would he do that?" Harry blinked at her, feeling as if his whole world had been tipped upside down. Again.

"I don't know," she shrugged, shaking her head at him. "I just know that he heard you were on the case and asked to be assigned to it."

"But-," Harry started.

"Wait a minute," Ron said. It was the first time he'd spoke from where he was standing in the corner, staring off into space as if he wasn't listening them at all. "Do you remember that break in last week at Gregson Manor?"

"I…" Harry trailed off, thinking hard. It had been right before he was assigned the Jasmine Bradbury case, and he vaguely remembered it was the complicated break in case that Ron was working. "Not really."

"Well, I do," Ron said, looking mildly proud. "It's the case I've been assigned to. Gregson Manor belongs to James Gregson. Let me tell you, he's a stuck up pureblood if ever there was one-."

"Ron!" Hermione complained.

"I- right. Well, the case was really strange. The wards on the Manor went off, and the Gregsons definitely heard people inside their house. The house elves even reported two people arguing. A man and a woman, except absolutely nothing was stolen. It was as if the two people just vanished off the grounds again."

"Jasmine and Johnson," Harry gasped. "They must have botched the job and then used the artifact to get away. That's what Johnson meant about Jasmine not doing her job."

"That's what I was thinking," Ron answered.

"But why target the Gregsons?" Hermione asked, frowning between them.

"Well, the Gregsons are one of the few purebloods who don't use Gringotts," Ron said.

"So, all their gold is in their Manor?" Hermione asked, understanding beginning to shine in her eyes.

"Yeah."

"We need to go check it out," Harry said, standing. He set his tea down, causing it to spill down the leg of the coffee table as Hermione watched him with wide eyes.

"You can't just-," she started.

"Johnson could have Malfoy there right now!" Harry argued.

"Harry, wait!" Ron argued. "We need to report this to Shacklebolt."

"Ron, please!" Harry answered. "I don't know the coordinates for Gregson Manor; you have to take me there."

"But-," Ron shook his head, looking conflicted.

"Just go, Ron," Hermione said. "You and Harry go; I'll tell Shacklebolt."

"But we can't just-."

"Come on, Ron," Harry said. "Please?"

"Oh, Merlin," Ron sighed, stepping up to him and taking hold of his arm, and the last thing Harry saw before they Disapparated was Hermione biting her lip.

They landed hard on the dirt, Harry shaking his head to clear the sickening pull of Apparition. They were just outside the gates of Gregson Manor, and the smoke rising from the building made it clear that something was wrong. Harry started toward the gate, drawing his wand with Ron right behind him.

They didn't see anything on their way up the path, the dirt crunching under their feet. Harry paused at the front door, Ron perching himself on the other side. The door swung open easily when Harry pushed it, the hinges not even squeaking. He exchanged a look with Ron, whose eyes were wide and nervous.

Harry stepped inside first, holding his wand in front of him as they moved into the Manor. He felt Ron at his back as he moved further in. He jumped at the loud pop to the right, turning quickly to see a house elf with drooping ears and a long snout looking up at him. He lowered his wand, stepping forward to crouch in front of the elf.

"Hello, there," he murmured; the elf just blinked at him. "Do you know what happened here?"

"Two mens be breaking in," she said, her voice a high squeak. "One of them had a nasty horrible ring. Yanla try to stop him, but he hads master in the drawing room, and Yanla not knows what to do. He says he wants money, but master no give him anything."

"That's ok," Ron told her. "We're here to help."

"Help?!" Yanla, which must have been the house elf's name, said, sounded somewhere between relieved and excited. "Good, master be needing help."

"They're in the drawing room?" Harry asked.

"In the drawing room!" Yanla said. "Is can show you!"

"Yes, please," Harry answered, standing as she started to bound down the hall in the opposite direction of the entrance. They went a few feet down the hall before turning left and then right. They walked another couple minutes before Yanla stopped in front of a door that was just barely cracked. Inside Harry could hear the voices of two people talking. One person sounding particularly upset, and Harry only had to listen for a second before he recognized both Malfoy's and Johnson's voices.

"Thank you, Yanla," he said before turning to Ron. "They're in there."

"Yeah," Ron answered. "I can hear them too."

Harry put his hand on the door, looking over as Ron raised his wand. He nodded, waiting for Ron to nod back before he shoved the door open. He flicked his wand straight at Johnson and while the man's eyes widened in surprise, the spell was rebounded off his ring and send tumbling back toward Harry.

"_Protego_," Ron's voice sounded in Harry's ear, his wand flashing in Harry's face, and Harry's spell was blocked.

"Harry, his ring," Malfoy called. He was set in a chair in the middle of the room, his hands tied in front of him, the rope twirling around him body in a way that couldn't have been comfortable. "You have to get the ring away from him!"

"Shut up!" Johnson snarled, turning back toward Malfoy, his eyes flashing with a dangerous kind of light.

"Hey!" Harry yelled, stepping toward Johnson and raising his wand. He saw Ron moving behind him out of the corner of his eye but trusted Ron to know what he was doing. There was another man laid out on the carpet in front of the fire, obviously unconscious and bound similarly to Malfoy. He had dark eyes and brown hair with expensive looking clothes, and Harry figured he must be James Gregson.

"Why couldn't you just leave me alone!" Johnson said, raising his wand toward Harry. He didn't get very far before Ron jumped on Johnson sending them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Harry stared at them in shock, frozen in place even as Ron punched Johnson in the face, sending Johnson flying to the ground, his left arm straight against the floor.

"The ring, Harry!" Draco yelled again, sounded exasperated. "Grab the ring!"

Harry blinked only just realizing the arm against the ground was the one with the ring on it. He threw himself on top of Johnson's arm, ignoring the man's infuriated yell and grabbing hold of the man's hand. He slipped the ring off his finger, already feeling the dark magic curling through his fingers as he threw it clear across the room. 

Johnson yelled loudly, twisting under Ron in a way that sent both Harry and Ron to the ground. And Johnson was suddenly standing, his eyes locked on the ring as he sprinted across the room, determined to reach the thing.

"No!" Harry yelled, reaching for his wand but he was going to be too late; he knew he would.

"Stop him!" Draco called, pulling against his ropes.

"I don't know where my wand went!" Ron answered.

"_Stupefy!" _a new voice said, and Johnson collapsed against the ground, inches away from his ring. Harry turned toward the door, looking to face a very disgruntled looking Kingsley.

* * *

"How could you both be so stupid?" Kingsley asked, his voice loud and echoing in the small space of his office. He'd been chewing both Ron and Harry out for a good twenty minutes, making them stand in the middle of his office as he yelled. "Running off with no plan, no real knowledge of what you were up against," Kingsley pinched the bridge of his nose and Harry could tell he was winding down.

"At least we saved Malfoy," Ron muttered, and Kingsley glared at him. "Sir," he added nervously.

"Just get out of my office," he snapped. "The both of you." Harry breathed a sigh of relief, heading to the door as quickly as he could. He hoped Malfoy hadn't already left; the last he'd seen him, he was talking to Hermione outside of Kingsley's office, watching as Ron and Harry went in.

"And Potter," Kingsley said. Harry turned, wincing as he did. Ron dashed out the door behind him. "Don't think you'll get anymore cases with Malfoy after this."

"But-," Harry stared at him. He'd worked _well_ with Malfoy; it wasn't his fault Johnson had caught them by surprise.

"You know what I'm talking about," Kingsley interrupted, and Harry blushed at the twinkle in his eyes.

"I… yes, sir," he said, shoving out the door as quickly as he could.

Hermione was standing in the same place she'd been twenty minutes ago, hugging Ron tightly. Malfoy stood stiffly beside them, shifting uncomfortably. He looked a mess, his hair tangled around his shoulders; one of the buttons on his shirt was missing, and Harry could tell that his wrists had been rubbed raw from the ropes.

The treatment he'd endured at Johnson's hand sent a blazing course of anger through him, making him want to do something stupid. Like kissing down Malfoy's chest and taking his hands in his, healing his wrists. He shook his head, walking over to them. Malfoy watched him with sharp grey eyes, reaching up to flick a strand of blonde hair out of his face.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "Thank goodness!" He hugged her back, keeping his gaze firmly on Malfoy's. Hermione drew back. She looked over at Malfoy, then at him, huffing a loud breath as she did.

"Well," Hermione said. "We'll just leave you guys to it, shall we?"

"What?" Ron blinked at her, then Harry. "But-."

"Come on, Ron," Hermione interrupted, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away. Harry watched her for a long minute before turning to Malfoy.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I've had worse," Malfoy shrugged, sounding strangely formal.

"Oh," Harry said, and there was a long beat where he thought about just leaving, or he wondered if Malfoy would just leave.

"Granger told me how you found me," Malfoy said finally.

"Oh, right," Harry said, shifting his feet and feeling horribly uncomfortable.

"Thank you," Malfoy said, raising his hand as if he would run it through his hair and then dropping it. "For saving me, I mean. I hope you didn't get in too much trouble."

"No, I…" Harry trailed off, and he suddenly remembered what Hermione had told him—about how Malfoy had _asked _to be assigned to his case. About how he had wanted to work with Harry. "Why did you ask to be assigned to my case?" he asked, the question just kind of falling out of his mouth, and Malfoy's grey eyes widened in shock.

"What?"

"Hermione told me that you heard I was on the case, so you requested to be put on it with me," he said, almost stuttering over his words. Malfoy glanced up, as if he was almost looking for an answer up on the ceiling. He sighed loudly, glancing back down to stare at Harry with his sharp grey eyes intense.

"I wanted to work with you," Malfoy said, as if Harry couldn't have already figured that out.

"Bt why?" Harry asked.

"I've liked you since school, Harry," Malfoy said, and even though he was talking slowly, Harry couldn't do much more than stare at him, unable to process. Malfoy sighed again, running a tense hand through his hair. "I was a brat to you, because I was jealous you wouldn't pay attention to me, and when I heard you needed a consult from my department, I figured, why not? If you still hated me, at least I would know. At least, I'd be able to stop wondering what you would have done if I wasn't such an idiot to you."

"You…." Harry trailed off, still staring, and Malfoy let out a strangled laugh.

"Look, Potter, you don't have to say anything," and he sounded so… "You've made it very clear how you feel about our relationship," when had Harry done that? Sure, he'd thought… but now that he knew… "I wouldn't want to make you want to do anything you don't want to-,"

And Harry had no idea what he was doing, his mind was still locked numb, but his body was moving forward, connecting his lips with Malfoy's, anything to just shut him up, because really, Malfoy didn't know when to just shut up.

Draco made a muffled sound against his lips before relaxing against him, opening his mouth and letting Harry's tongue into his mouth. And God, it felt so much better knowing Draco actually wanted him for more than sex. He pulled away staring into wide, desire filled grey eyes.

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" Harry asked, and Draco gaped at him.

"What?" Draco asked.

"I think I've liked you since school too," he said, wondering how he'd been dense enough to miss it when it seemed so obvious now. "I just didn't know it."

"I- really?"

"Really," Harry answered, pressing forward to kiss him again.

~~fin~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! And thanks for your lovely comments!


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